Nature
by arithenay
Summary: Somehow it seems that Dean always carries the weight of the world on his shoulders.... Oneshot


Nature

As the sun dropped over the horizon, Dean drew heavily on his cigarette. God knew when Sammy would be back, and he didn't want his little brother sneaking up on one of his rare moments of indulgence. He was well aware of the irony: all the years he'd spent sneaking cigarettes on the sly from his father, and now he was just as cautious because of Sam.

So he was a closet smoker. So what? Everyone had their Goddam vices; why the hell shouldn't Dean have his? Besides, he could quit any time he wanted to. If he got through a pack a month, it meant he had a lot of free time on his hands.

His feet rested on the hood of his car as he sucked frantically on the last of the cigarette. Nicotine seeped into his lungs, pacifying him, giving him a grip on the last few days. Almost as good as sex, he reflected as he tossed the butt into the gravel.

Almost, but not quite.

Dean hunched forward, lacing his hands behind his neck. The scenery spread before him like a postcard photograph. Water rippled gently in the breeze, reflecting the sunset's brilliant colors. The last rays of sunlight struck him, sending sparks of warmth down his neck. There wasn't a sound to be heard except the chirp of crickets.

God, he hated nature. What he wouldn't give for the roar of a motor right now. Or better still, a good heavy bass beat and a few chicks in short skirts.

A branch cracked behind him. Dean reacted instantaneously, somersaulting off his car and drawing the knife from his boot. Sam stood just outside the trees, watching him with amusement. "Sorry," he said.

"Dude, if you made me scratch my car..." Dean bent over the hood and swiped at his footprints with the sleeve of his coat.

"Yeah, well, if you'd been paying attention..."

"Stow it Sammy, I don't need a lecture." Dean bent closer, his own face reflected in the gleaming metal. Satisfied, he straightened up and resheathed his knife. "What'd you find?"

"About as much as you, by the looks of things." Sam sagged against the car, felt Dean's blistering glare, and leveraged himself upright with a roll of his eyes. "You were _sitting_ on it five minutes ago!"

"Yeah, and it's my car. Hands off."

"Whatever." The brothers glared without any real animosity. It was a ritual, this sparring, something to keep them grounded and sane in the midst of the bizarre events composing their lives.

Not for the first time, a wave of doubt assailed Dean. He'd taken Sam from his quiet college life. Sure, Sam would have had to leave it anyway, but that didn't change the fact Dean had come for him.

Did that mean Dean was to blame? He'd come for Sam out of pure human weakness, he knew that. He worked just fine on his own, but that didn't mean he liked things that way. He wanted someone at his back. Someone to share the successes and lessen the failures.

Damn it, he was human. Was that such a crime?

Sam rummaged in his backpack for a flashlight as the sun dropped below the horizon completely, plunging them into darkness. "Does this mean another night out here?" he sighed.

"Guess so." Dean shrugged. "I'll take first watch if you want."

A huge yawn split Sam's face before he could argue, and the brothers exchanged rueful grins. "All right. Wake me at midnight; we'll take three hour watches."

"Right." Dean sank onto the hood of the car, preparing himself for a long and uneventful night – again. Behind him, Sam ditched his backpack and climbed into the backseat. "Hey, Sammy?"

"Yeah?"

"I really don't feel like sleeping in a puddle of your drool, okay? Try to keep it in your mouth tonight."

"You're disgusting, Dean."

"I'm not the one dribbling all over the place."

Sam shook his head and vanished into the car as Dean allowed a smile to cross his lips.

God, he wished he had another cigarette.

-----

"Dean."

He shifted, wondering if he'd heard the voice correctly.

"_Dean_."

Cold air against his cheek... _Shit_! He'd fallen asleep.

Dean jerked straight up, instantly awake. Damn it, damn it, damn it! What was wrong with him? Something could have attacked him, Sam, and he wouldn't even have...

_Dean._

He hadn't imagined it.

"Sammy," he hissed without moving, well aware his brother wouldn't be able to hear him. Scrambling to his feet, keeping his back to the car, he inched toward the door and worked it open. "Sammy!"

No response from inside the car. Instead, Sam's voice answered from deep in the trees. "Dean!"

Dean froze. He worked the penlight free from his pocket and angled it into the car.

Sam slept on the backseat, soundly for once, the requisite trickle of drool seeping from the corner of his mouth. Dean fought a grin.

Until Sam's voice wiped it from his lips:_ "Dean!"_

OK, now he _knew _that wasn't Sam talking.

For a moment he debated waking his brother. Then he gently closed the door, stepped over the circle of salt they'd laid the night before, and advanced toward the trees.

"Sam?" he called with deceptive lightness. His other hand stroked the long iron blade sheathed at his side.

A long pause, and the answering call: "Dean?"

Not Sammy's voice this time. No.

_His father's._

Now things were getting personal.

Dean stopped at the tree line. No matter how irritated he was, he wasn't plunging in there like a rookie. "That you, Dad?" he called easily. The veins standing out on his neck belied his tone.

Something flashed by him. Dean fell back, scrambled a few feet over the gravel, and stared into the dark, silent night. "Who's there?" he demanded sharply.

"Help me," came the plaintive cry. Something shimmered and took form, a face – a girl.

Dean's heart caught in his throat. Yeah, he recognized her.

She'd died three years ago, killed by a spirit who'd killed four others before her. Her death had provided the final clue he needed to kill the damn thing for good. If he'd figured it out a couple hours sooner, she might have lived.

Now she stared at him with large, helpless eyes. "You could have saved me," she whispered.

Resentment stirred in his chest, resentment and something else. "I can't save everyone," he snarled, wondering why he was bothering to argue. He should be looking for a way to kill it.

But had it actually hurt anyone? They'd had reports of strange lights, voices, sounds... No deaths. Nothing, really, that would have caught their attention if they hadn't been in the area already. "What are you?" he demanded.

The space shimmered again, and his gut clenched reflexively at the form it assumed. "I'm your mother, Dean," she whispered softly. "Don't you recognize me?"

"You're not my mother."

"You watched me die. Me and all those others. The ones you could have saved and didn't." She shimmered again, taking on a form he only recognized from seeing it once before. Jessica. "You didn't protect Sam. You couldn't protect your father." And he was staring into his father's face, this time not even sure when it had changed. "I trusted you, Dean. You were supposed to take care of your brother. You were supposed to save them all."

"Yeah, well, I save enough of them," he snarled. At the back of his mind a voice nagged at him, telling him not to debate with this thing, to find out what it wanted or destroy it.

But it was shifting too fast, taking on voices and faces, some he recognized – Jo, Sam – some he didn't. But they all had the same accusation.

_Why didn't you do a better job of protecting us?_

"Stop it!" he shouted, banging his fist into the gravel. He snatched a handful and whipped it at the apparition, which vanished.

For a moment all was silent.

And then the voices rose all at once, surrounding him, making him cringe and claw at his own ears in an effort to block them out.

_You were supposed to protect us, Dean._

_We _ trusted _you._

_Why didn't you save me?_

_Why couldn't you help us?_

_Why?_

_Why?_

Why?

"Shut up!" He leveraged himself to his feet. The voices stilled, the apparitions vanished, but still he could sense them all around him, watching, waiting... listening. "I'm only human, damn it! I can't take care of everyone!"

_"Your father could." _A whisper on the wind.

"No," he said, his throat clenching around the word. His mother's face rose, unbidden, to his mind. "No he couldn't. Neither can I." He forced his spine straight, realizing the truth of the words. "I can't save them all. And whatever you are, you aren't going to beat me this way. Not like this. So either get lost or stand and show yourself so I can blast you back to hell."

Sudden, genuine silence surrounded him, and Dean clutched at his chest, not sure if he was having a heart attack or what. He spun, trying to find, to sense, the apparition, but it had vanished. It couldn't have really taken option A? "Well?" he shouted, not caring if he woke Sam. "Where'd you go, you bitch? Don't you have anything left to say?"

Apparently it didn't.

Glancing at his watch, he was shocked to find it almost five in the morning – almost time for the sun to rise.

Where had the night gone?

Where had the spirit gone?

Where had the constant pain at his temples gone?

"I can't save them all," he said out loud, scuffing the gravel with his foot. He glanced to the horizon, back to the car where Sammy slumbered, probably coating the leather in saliva.

_No, you can't. Remember that._

Had he imagined that response? "Hello?"

No answer.

Streaks of red spread across the horizon, and Dean shook his head, smudging the salt circle as he made his way back to the car.

If he was lucky, there might be another cigarette hidden under the seat.

-----

"Dean?"

Shit. Dean dropped the last of his smoke onto the ground and stepped on it. "What?" he demanded with his back to his brother, clearing the smoke from his lungs and trying not to choke.

"It's a bit past midnight."

"Yeah." Dean drew a few deep breaths, clearing his lungs before turning to face his brother with a rueful smile. "Didn't see any point in waking you."

"What happened?"

"Nothing." He clapped his brother heavily on the shoulder and jingled his keys. "Let's go get some breakfast, Sammy."

"What? But what about...?"

"We're finished here." Without meeting his brother's eyes, Dean slid behind the wheel and gunned the engine, rubbing exhaustion from his face as the familiar thrum of the car registered beneath his fingers. "You coming or what?"

Sam stared at him in confusion as he slid into his seat. "You going to tell me what happened?"

"Brothers have to keep some secrets, Sammy. Otherwise they turn into girlfriends." He grinned to show he was teasing, jerked the wheel, and spun them onto the highway. Sam started to ask another question, but Dean cranked the volume on the stereo, drowning his brother out.

He floored the gas pedal, searching for a cafe. He was damn hungry.

And he really wanted a cigarette.


End file.
